


Mångata

by artemis69



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mermen!AU, Ocean queen!Lydia, Speed Dating, There is a cute octopus and nothing hurts, teacher!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 08:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15659766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis69/pseuds/artemis69
Summary: The place chosen for the speed dating is nice, close enough to the shore that the sun warms the shallow waters and washes everything in blinding white light. Long, thin shadows crawl all over the hills, dancing over pinkish sand and pale rocks, following the swirls of the surface.When he looks around, Stiles can see various spots marked out with colorful stones, all organized in a loose circle and numbered with small shells. In the center of it all is a massive signboard in human plastic, glinting under the sun.It is, objectively, the nicest place Stiles has ever been this miserable in.-Or the Sterek mermen speed dating AU where Stiles is unlucky in love (until he isn't).





	Mångata

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very indulgent but fun-to writefic for me. I really wanted to write something lighthearted, and when I got this wonderful combination of tropes in a trope generator I could not resist!
> 
> This fic would not exist without the beautiful Yodas-yo-yo (whose wondeful gift has put me in a writing mood these days), notvirginawoolf (fantastic beta and all over amazing person, who helped turn this into something readable despite her already full week) and Seanconneraille (because she exists). I'm very grateful to have these beautiful persons in my life :D

 

 

**Mångata**

 

 

“ **Mångata** ”: Swedish, word for the glimmering, road-like reflection that the moon creates on water.

 

“You are going.”

 

“I am certainly _not_.”

 

Lydia huffs, her tail whipping sharply under her. Disturbed sand troubles the water between them both. The long strands of Lydia’s hair cling to the arches of her body in her agitation, the pale red striking against the electric blue and black of her scales.

 

Sprawled on the floor, Stiles observes her theatrics with affection, lazily flicking his own tail to get rid of the sand sinking back down all over him.

 

Lydia is stunning in her irritation, as she is in everything else.

 

Generations ago, when peace with the Land had been unheard of, she would have been venerated. Sailors would have jumped overboard in the hope of touching her; lost treasures at sea in the hope of seducing her.

Even now, Stiles can see how the human scientists stare at her while she destroys their hypotheses. The war between their species has been over for centuries but, for Lydia, they would all jump and drown with smiles on their faces.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia snaps, batting her hair away from her cheek and mouth, annoyed.

 

“Lydia,” he parrots, stretching obnoxiously.

 

They have known each other too long now for her bewitching powers to work on Stiles. The silence between them grows.

 

“Why?” She finally grits, more challenge than question.

 

Stiles squints at her. “Wait. Is my situation _that_ disastrous?”

 

“You're pretty and smart,” she admits graciously, “but if you don’t make drastic changes to your lifestyle, you _will_ grow old alone and turn into one of these weird mermen that follow whales around and think they can speak to them.”

 

“Whales migrate to the south pole. This new career of mine would be cut short as soon as I try to put a fin in arctic waters,” he remarks lazily, pointing at his brightly colored tail.

 

“You're going, Stiles,” Lydia insists again, ignoring him.

 

“No, Lydia, I'm not,” he repeats slowly, “speed dating is for desperate people and weirdos. I'm perfectly able to find someone by myself.”

 

She stares at him pityingly.

 

“I love you, but this is one of the stupidest things to ever come out of your mouth. Speed dating is just another way to meet new people. That’s it. And history has clearly proved that you are unable to meet _people_ by yourself. You only find _creeps_.”

 

“I do not!” he protests, rising on his elbows in offense.

 

“Your last boyfriend called you ‘pretty girl’! In front of your dad!” she hisses.

 

Stiles winces at the humiliating memory. “And Samantha? The dye she used on you almost killed you. You were asleep! You had to press _charges_ Stiles.”

 

Lydia is all puffed up in her indignity, as prickly and approachable as a blowfish. Stiles lowers his head, rubbing the side of his nose.

 

He has to admit that this was not a glorious year for him.

 

The silence drags on, heavy and growing more and more pathetic with every minute. Lydia finally sighs, her gills twitching. She curls on the sand against him.

Stiles can feel the death blow coming.

 

“You owe me,” she says simply, her fingers brushing against his hair in a light caress. “I took care of you every damn day you spent sprawled on that rock, begging seagulls to eat you alive because you couldn’t handle classes anymore. I got you down from there, put food into you and helped you study. And I never, not _once_ , tried to sell you to one of these freaky humans looking for a young, exotic bride.”

 

“You are a goddess, a miracle with fins,” Stiles agrees immediately.

 

“So now, you are going to listen to me once more, because you know I only want your happiness.”

 

“But—“

 

“No. No objection. You're going to go prepare, brush your scales beforehand –I want you shiny—and you’re going to give this a real chance. And put some accessories on for once. Red coral maybe? It does look lovely on you.”  

 

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s pretty me up some more. Because I’m so strong and brutal looking to begin with,” Stiles snarks. Lydia stares at him, nose wrinkled.

 

“You should stop listening to stupid people’s opinions. They're rotting your brain,” she says, shaking her head. Stiles opens his mouth but she raises a hand imperiously. “Not another word. You are going. And you're going to bring home someone that will make you happy for once.”

 

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to bring home someone from a _speed dating_ , Lydia. Do you want me to get murdered? Is this a weird revenge plot for something I forgot?”

 

“Stop arguing. Start brushing. It begins in two hours.”

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

_As a kid, Stiles knew what beautiful meant._

_Beautiful was the sunbeams crashing on his mother’s fins and bleeding all over the seabed, in hues of reds and golds._

_Beautiful was watching his mom swim, swirl, the vast veils of her tail tangling and fanning out around her._

_Beautiful was in the way his dad touched her, as if afraid that she would dissolve in the sunlight. In all the ways his dad hugged her, tight and laughing, unafraid of the poison sleeping in the long, unyielding spines resting all over her body._

_Stiles was used to others stopping to stare at his mother, at how vibrant and beautiful she was swimming against the blue of the water._

_And Stiles, as a child, loved the bright red of his own tail._

_He loved how perfectly his coloring matched hers, so similar that their tails could pass as one if they moved fast enough._

_He loved the complexity of his veils and the afternoons spent curled on the sand with his mom, her fingers combing slowly through his fins. He’d always wished to have her slashes of colors, the strips of yellow, white and gold drawn on her like sun bleached corals. But Stiles’ were completely translucent, spattered all over with thousands bright white-blue spots. His mom used to say that they danced in the water like hundreds of tiny stars._

_Others told him again and again how much they looked alike._

_They all stopped to make a comment on the colors of his scales and his vast veils. People called him pretty and delicate._

_It took Stiles years to understand that they never meant it as good things._

_Because mermen were supposed to be fast, sleek, powerful. Everything Stiles wasn’t._

_Because Stiles had to be unwrapped more than once from his own fins by a teacher under the scornful laughs of his classmates._

_Because Stiles once took weeks to heal after following others in a current strong enough to tear the delicate veil of one of his fins to shreds._

_Because Stiles was too slow for racing, too sweet looking for intimidation plays, too colorful for hide and seek._

_Stiles had tried to point out the poison in his body, to show off the spines along his spine and tail that could have paralyzed Jackson for days on simple contact._

_But they all looked at the stars dancing on his fins, the red of his scales and the gold in his eyes and scoffed._

_So, Stiles has known what beauty looks like since he was a small kid._

_But as an adult, Stiles has long learned that beauty was not for mermen._

 

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

The place chosen for the speed dating is nice, close enough to the shore that the sun warms the shallow waters and washes everything in blinding white light. Long, thin shadows crawl all over the hills, dancing over pinkish sand and pale rocks, following the swirls of the surface.

 

When he looks around, Stiles can see various spots marked out with colorful stones, all organized in a loose circle and numbered with small shells. In the center of it all is a massive signboard in human plastic, glinting under the sun.

 

It is, objectively, the nicest place Stiles has ever been this miserable in.

 

Stiles squints at the board and groans when he finds it to be a list of suggested questions. They all look so cliché that _Stiles_ is embarrassed, and he’s here under duress.

 

He looks back one last time at the perky organizer that welcomed him. The merman smiles, shiny but empty.

 

Stiles sighs dejectedly and swims toward the number six with lowered shoulders.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

His first date is called Roan. He is big, blond and muscular.

 

He also doesn’t try to hide his moue of contempt when he first catches sight of Stiles’ fins.

 

Stiles has a pretty clear idea of the result of this date.

 

 

Despite bracing himself for the worst, the date is still excruciating. Stiles doesn’t talk. He doesn’t even give his name.

 

It doesn’t slow the man down.

 

Stiles would be impressed if he wasn’t so bored.

 

Roan is currently gloating about the gruesome details of a familial hunt spent tracking some rare and protected species of seal. Stiles hums distractedly, taking mental notes to bring this up at work with the anti-poaching department.  

 

Then, clearly deciding to confirm all Stiles’ bias against speed dating, Roan raises his douchebag level up a notch and starts making direct comments about Stiles’ tail and fins.

 

Stiles studies him in silence, awed by the stupidity.

 

He finally shakes himself and raises one opened hand. He waits for the flow of idiocy to dry before pointing delicately at the man’s dolphin tail and its awful dye job. Black ink flecks off the scales in patches like some kind of horrible skin disease.

 

Stiles smiles, fake and sweet and full of teeth.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

The stingray, Assana, is insanely beautiful. 

 

She moves through the water like nobody Stiles has ever met, graceful and fluid. She’s pale, her bones long and thin as a bird’s. She seems fragile undulating over the sand, bleached by sunlight.

 

Stiles wonders how many mermen were too mesmerized by her beauty to remember the threats made by the deadly sting at the end of her tail.

 

Stiles would never make the same mistake. He looks at her straight in the eyes, grins and offers his hand for a handshake.

 

When she accepts it, smiling back, her grip is strong and her nails bite. Stiles isn’t surprised.

 

 

As expected, Assana is gorgeous, lethal and clever.

 

Less expected, Assana is only attracted to mermaids.

 

 

After some awkward explanations, they both decide to bond over the whole mistake and settle down for a nice chat.

 

She tries to explain her job to Stiles, gushing about the thermodynamic of currents and the new human technologies trying to harness their strength. Her hands are flying everywhere and she’s beaming, obviously deciding to use their allowed time to cram as much science as possible in Stiles’ head.

 

Here, lying on the sand with her thin fingers dancing in the water, she shines with a crackling passion that Stiles is unable to conjure for anything other than food. He understands maybe ten percent of her technobabble but nods happily anyway, carried away by the strength of her smile. 

 

The end to their meeting comes too quickly and they exchange contacts discreetly, whispering like cheating students and wary of the organizers’ severe gaze.

 

She waves at him when they swim away from each other and Stiles waves back. In his mind, he’s already planning to introduce her to Lydia.

 

He may be destined to end his life alone, but no whales for him. He will enjoy his privileged position as the spoiled pet of the Queens of the Oceans.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

An anglerfish is floating calmly in front of the number eight.

Stiles blinks, awed.

 

Even far from the coast, bloodlines from the Black are incredibly rare. In his entire life, Stiles has only caught sight of one of them during an intervention, and only from afar.

 

The mermaid seems comically out of place under the blinding sun, her skin almost see-through and her hair translucent. Her pallor makes the world around her overflow with colors, the sand brightly pink under her tail. Algae is braided into a mask to protect her sensitive eyes from the sun’s rays. She looks bloated, her traits made fuzzy by the weak water pressure. Jutting from her hair, a light on the end of a thin antenna bobs up and down in front of her forehead.

 

Stiles looks at her, diaphanous and silent, and tries to gather the entirety of his knowledge on the Black. He comes up pretty empty, with only rumors and hearsay.

 

Tales of pressure turning everything to dust and of a cold able to freeze light itself. Stories of wane glows and pale lives floating in the emptiness. Legends of shadows swimming in the darkness with them, primal things, immense, silent and deadly.

 

Stiles curls up in front of her, almost vibrating in excitement. While he introduces himself, his brain is already jumping to the logistics this kind of long distance relationship could entail. He’s sure a medium depth could be agreed on for further dates. After all, she’s adventurous enough to venture into full sunlight, and clearly often enough that she doesn’t look bothered by the change in pressure.

 

The mermaid opens her mouth to answer him and her jaw unhooks like a sea snake. Her neck and half of her face disappear to leave a maw of teeth in their place. Stiles bites his tongue to fight off the terrified screech trying to escape him.

 

For the entirety of their date, he tries not to stare at the many teeth crammed in there, thin as needles and implanted randomly in her gums, each of them longer than his forearm.

 

He only keeps his smile on his face by pure strength of will. His parents raised a polite merman, and he would sooner die than yell in terror in somebody’s face because of a simple difference in anatomy.

 

He still kind of wants to.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

The selkie doesn’t even change into their human skin.

 

Stiles spends several minutes looking inside the seal’s eyes, babbling on to keep the conversation going. He tries to put in place a clever system based on nods but the selkie keeps staring at him blankly, lazily hovering in the water.

 

Stiles shrugs, gives up and starts babbling about his godson.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

Caspian is the embodiment of classic merman beauty with the dark skin of shallow water bloodlines crisscrossed with silver scars and an ink blue tail, strong and rough looking.

 

The mermaid preceding Stiles apparently thought so too, because she’s still looking at Caspian with heart-eyes from her new circle, completely ignoring her date.

 

Stiles can understand.

 

Caspian is currently recounting his second longest stay on Land. He describes the brilliant simplicity of what humans call a wheelchair and how it allows mermaids to roll all over Land. He describes cars, faster than any current in the oceans, and the Land melting into streaks of colors behind their windows with the speed. He beams when he mentions planes and seeing the sea from so high that islands are only tiny dots of green in a universe of blue. He moves his hands frantically, miming deserts made of salt or sand without a drop of water, bones of long dead prehistoric oceans.

 

They both talk of Afshak, the mermaid leaving for the human space station in two weeks.

She’s from the Black, used to darkness, cold and differences in pressure. She is to teach human astronauts how to live efficiently in three dimensions and under crushing conditions.

 

For the first time in history, a merfolk is going to swim among the stars.

 

When Caspian talks of it he looks up and his childish smile looks like a miracle on his jagged face. 

 

 

Stiles curls up comfortably in the sun to listen. He's always had a soft spot for people able to love life that hard. But as fascinating as Land’s stories can be, Stiles can’t even conjure a thread of envy for them.

 

Because Stiles _loves_ the water.

 

 

He loves the sea just a few feet away from the shore, lazy, warm and almost green, with its forests of algae and shining shoals of fish.

 

He loves the ocean enraged by storms and thunder, turned purple like a bruise. Likes to look up at the waves from under, huge mouths with fangs of white foam trying to take a bite out of the sky.

 

He loves the sea flat and calm, oily surface turned into a human mirror by the low sun. Stiles often floats there to look at his reflection in the morning, as if suspended upside down over the sky. Watching his crimson tail moving, he can almost hear the echoes of his mother’s laugh.

 

He loves the ocean on long winter nights, alone in the middle of nowhere, far enough from shore that the seafloor is swallowed in the depths. In the darkness, stars surround him, shining in the sky and infusing the water. If he moves slowly enough, he can capture some between his fingers and watch them shine in the water in his palms.

 

 

Stiles admires Caspian’s enthusiasm, but his whole life Stiles has only ever felt _pity_ for mankind. So many of them dream of joining them under water.

Stiles has met hundreds swimming clumsily, weighted with lead and clutching at plastic, metal and oxygen not to drown.

 

 

So, Stiles keeps smiling at Caspian because the man is attractive and passionate.

 

But his dream is to walk on Land.

 

And Stiles will never want to be chained to dirt.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

It takes only a few minutes for the squid man to try to feel him up.

 

Stiles is almost shocked at the cliché of it all.

 

At first, Stiles only smacks off too-friendly tentacles from his arm with a tense smile. The guy keeps the small talk going as if nothing happened, insipid but heavy with innuendos.

 

The date is endless and Stiles could swear that the sun itself has stopped its course, astonished by this guy's creepiness.

 

Everything goes from bad to worse when Stiles lets his guard down in their last seconds together. One of the tentacles circles Stiles’ dorsal fin and squeezes it tightly.

 

The next instant, the man is floating belly up in the water, twitching. The tentacle stung by Stiles’ venomous spines convulses for several seconds before dropping flabbily to the side with the others.

 

Two organizers rush toward them. Stiles is ready to defend himself but they just carry the unconscious body out of sight, probably toward the nearest health center. Nobody dares ask Stiles for an explanation, despite some organizers sending him dark looks for the disturbance.

 

Stiles remembers that the registration form asked for his job and he smiles at them. 

 

From her own circle, Assana turns toward him and sends him a double thumb up.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

Stiles swims reluctantly toward number 12, daydreaming of the exact charges he’s going to press against Creepy McMerSquid. Stiles’ report is going to be so beautifully detailed that they’ll use it as teaching material in the academy one day. He’ll channel his sufferings into art.

 

He’s also going to enjoy sharing all the gruesome details of his day with Lydia. The misery of the afternoon as a whole just won him at least two years free of meddling.  

 

 

The first thing he catches from his new date is a glimpse of shark tail batting against the sand. Muscular and sleek with rough skin in shades of grey and the rare black stripes of tiger sharks.

 

Stiles bites back a sigh. He doesn’t know if he can look at a new cocksure smirk without poisoning the guy on sight. His patience is reaching negative levels.

 

He raises his eyes reluctantly from the sand and freezes.

 

Dark hair and muscles everywhere. Big hands and light, light eyes.

 

“ _Derek?_ ” blurts Stiles, unsettled.

 

“Stiles,” answers Derek with a cautious smile.

 

This is now officially The Worst Day of Stiles’ Life.

He would poison himself in self-defense if he was not immune.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

Stiles first met Derek on a very memorable occasion: Lusca’s first day of school.

 

To say that the day was a nightmare would be the sweetest euphemism.

 

Stiles didn’t slept the night before, plagued by images of his precious godson being bullied. His entire workday was a long series of disasters, as he was too anxious to focus on anything. He was so twitchy that even Erica gave up and left him to freak out alone after a few hours.

His boss finally sent him home hours early, pissed off by Stiles stressing the whole department out.

 

Boyd hugged him awkwardly when Stiles left and Erica only reappeared to kiss him on the cheek. Because they knew.

 

 

It’s not a secret that Stiles loves his godson unconditionally; has done since the first time Scott put him in his arms, so tiny and not even colored yet, minuscule tail struggling to coil around one of Stiles’ fingers.

 

Stiles has loved him as a frail baby helplessly drifting around. Has loved him as a growing infant, all enthusiasm and no coordination.

And Stiles loves him as a fully-grown child, freckles everywhere, nose always wrinkled in concentration and fin batting frantically against the water to stay stable.

 

Stiles has been right by his side all these years for the physical therapists and the exercises, for the cuddles and the temper tantrums. Stiles has gutted himself for this kid, spilled stories from his own childhood that he hid even from Scott.

 

Stiles has loved the kid like he’s a part of himself.

And Stiles remembers only too clearly what it means to be a child and different.

 

So the idea of Lusca and his seahorse tail and his too-small fin flapping as hard as possible, too slow to follow and left to float behind alone, squeezed around his ribs and threatened to override his brain’s basic functions.

 

Which is why, instead of going home to lie down like a sensible mer creature, Stiles ended up lurking around the entrance to the school long before even Scott or Allison.

 

He’s spiraled so fast into full blown terror that he missed the group’s arrival, only raising his head sharply when he heard childish laughter.

 

He then proceeded to swim almost straight into the nearest coral outcrop when he caught a glimpse of _The Merman_.

 

The Merman was perfectly stunning, from the tip of his tapered tail to his broad shoulders, with cheekbones sharper than human harpoons. He moves through water without any turbulence, his body built for lazy strength and complete silence.

 

The Merman looks like all the worst ideas feel like. Like an adrenaline rush, blood in the water and broken hearts.

 

But when Stiles saw him swimming closer, The Merman was surrounded by an effervescent cluster of merkids, all giggling and yelling at each other. The Merman was smiling, kind and patient, stopping for a second to point very seriously at something on a rock. The kids all gather around, listening to the man listing what seemed to be fun facts about starfish biology.

 

His voice was soft; his eyes, very pale. Near his shoulder, the cutest octopus is bobbing up and down, ear-like fins batting its head.

 

And around one of The Merman’s glorious, _glorious_ biceps was wrapped Lusca’s tail.

 

The whole group was calmly swimming toward the entrance of the school, but The Merman’s focus never waverd from the children. One of his hands was curled around Lusca’ body to keep him close to the side of his head. Even from a distance, Stiles could see him look often but discreetly at his godson, clearly worried that the child was tiring.

 

Stiles fell in love, _hard_ , on the spot.

He didn’t even know the man’s name.

 

Things turn from embarrassing to humiliating when Stiles tried to carry on as normal and interact with The Merman like a functional adult.

 

He ends up so flustered and incoherent that The Merman takes him for a child abductor. Even the cute octopus pet looks ready to fight him.

Stiles was only saved from a swift death by protective shark when Scott made a timely appearance. Scott swore up and down that Stiles wasn’t a child molester, but it was only after Lusca swam with all the strength left in his little tail to throw himself in Stiles’ arms that The Merman’s suspicions (and murderous intent) were allayed.

Finally, reluctantly, the Merman offered his hand in greeting with a wary look.

 

His name was Derek.

Stiles was still miserably in love.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

Since their first mortifying meeting, all their interactions have all been humiliating in various ways. Stiles tragically loses all his abilities to function as soon as he approaches this man.

He finally decided that it’d be better to keep his distance from Derek.

 

It mainly worked, as Derek stopped sending him looks promising violence every time Stiles comes to get Lusca from school. He even started smiling at Stiles, which was a whole other kind of tragedy and just as impossible to handle.

 

A month prior to the speed dating, Derek caught Stiles looking at him from the corner of his eye and offered him one of the shells he painted in class as an example, clearly misinterpreting Stiles’ wandering eye.

 

To this day, it’s still one of Stiles most precious possession.

Erica makes fun of him endlessly for it.

 

 

“Lydia didn’t tell me you would be here,” Derek finally says when the silence stretches long enough to be awkward.

 

“So, hi, Derek,” Stiles says eventually, blankly. At this point, what’s another disaster to add to the list? “I mean… Hm. Yeah, no, me neither. But, of course she didn’t warn me, she’s the worst.”

 

He rubs his eyes and cheek with one hand, sighing, “This whole day is the worst.”

 

Derek frowns, his whole face pinching.  “I’m sorry? I…I can leave if you prefer?” He proposes, gentle (always gentle) and Stiles wants to cling to him and never let go. The impulse is so strong his fingers are tingling.

 

“No, sorry. _Sorry_. It was not a good experience until you, I mean.” Derek’s shoulders lower down, losing their tension, and Stiles can’t stop himself from babbling nervously. “It was just… Well it was the angler girl with the teeth everywhere, and the selkie that wouldn’t even _try_ to talk to me, and the _guy that attempted to molest me with tentacles_ ,” he lists, voice thinning down progressively. He might be flirting with hysteria. He would very much like to bury his head in the sand and wait for death.

 

“ _Who_ did _what?_ ” growls Derek, gaze suddenly sharp and dark.

 

Stiles can see Derek’s nose twitch, scenting the water, and his body turns instinctively in the direction taken by the organizers and the poisoned squid. His shoulders are rolling, tensing, and the angle of his body is turning his back in a miracle of skin and muscles.

 

Stiles has never seen Derek being something other than soft and patient. Unsurprisingly, Stiles is also completely onboard with this protective, fierce side of Derek.

 

The small pet octopus starts swimming in circles around their heads, agitated.

 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. I poisoned him. It should take him four or five days to function again. He'll have all the time in the world to reflect on the notion of consent.”

 

Derek stays turned, eyes squinted as if hoping to see the creep carried away, but he’s smiling, small and amused.

 

“Good,” he says simply. He finally turns back toward Stiles and his smile grows. “I was busy trying to fend off some asshole. When I finally got rid of him the incident was already over. I didn’t think to check on what happened.”

 

“Dolphin guy?” Guesses Stiles.

 

“Yes,” Derek says, nose wrinkling in distaste, “you’ve met him?”

 

“Yeah, first date,” Stiles answers, raising one finger in the air because being in close proximity with Derek turns him into the worst of losers. “Spent half the time dwelling on how rich he was and how he liked to kill baby animals for fun. Then, he explained to me how lucky I was that he deigned talk to me despite my obvious flaws.”

 

Derek opens his mouth to answer but falters. “He said _what_? Which _flaws_?” He asks again, voice going flat and hard.

 

Stiles finds Derek’s surprise at the rudeness of merfolk refreshing and kind of adorable.

 

“Well. You know,” Stiles hesitates, clears his throat. He waves at the mess of veils and colors all over his body. “This.”

 

Derek’s eyes follow Stiles’ fingers, quickly brushing over his tail. He looks up, then, involuntarily, looks back down again.

 

“I…don’t understand,” he answers simply, still staring at Stiles’ fins.

 

Stiles bats his tail nervously, and for a handful of seconds Derek turns into a hazy silhouette through the shining grains of sands floating in the water. The silence feels heavy between them, expectant, and Stiles instinctively passes a hand through one of his fins to soothe himself.

 

“Well, you know,” he insists, worrying the thin veil between his fingers. Actually saying the words out loud to Derek may be just too much, even for this day. Derek doesn’t look like he knows.

 

“You _know_. The whole… mermaid’s tail, failed merman package. At least his stupidity saved me from original insults, which is always a win.”

 

To illustrate, Stiles unfolds his fins completely, the vast veils transparent in the water. Between the bright sun and pink sand, the white-blue dots on his fins glow fiercely and the poisonous spikes spread like shards of blood spotted with light.

 

Derek is frowning deeply. With his eyebrows.It’s a terrible and magnificent thing to witness. His mouth is soft, half opened.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Derek finally whispers, eyebrows still low on his face and his eyes tracking the dots dancing over the seafloor.

 

Stiles winces. “Thanks. I guess? I know I’m not the most virile but you do know that I—”

“No, that’s not—” Derek’s tail bats sharply through the water, betraying his agitation. He looks lost for words for a moment, long enough that Stiles braces against the impact of his next words.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. At all. You are just. Well, you’re…You are _so_ _beautiful_.”

Stiles startles, looks up. Derek stares right back, face still upset but something open and soft in his eyes.

Unable to find an adequate answer, Stiles only brushes the tip of Derek’s tail with one of his fins in gratitude. Derek watches the bright spots glow on the grey and black of his skin with such noticeable reverence that Stiles’ throat tightens.

The silence stretches.

Derek’s small octopus floats between them, siphon pumping water and ear-like fins flapping lazily to stay level.

The tips of Derek’s fingers brushes Stiles’ fin, delicately, as if afraid to rip it or to see it dissolve under his hands.

Stiles’ breath hitches.

 

Then, of course, because this is Stiles’ life, the call for the rotation of partners shatters their moment.

 

Alarmed, Stiles retracts his fins, coiling around his body like a frightened sea snake. Derek’s tail propels him almost one foot over the sand, his now-empty hand hovering in front of him.

Stiles is still blinking the surprise away when Derek’s next date appears on his left, so fast that she clearly used magic. Stiles can’t blame her.

He hates her at this exact moment, but he can’t blame her.

He grudgingly straightens up, fighting against the wild instincts urging him to wrap his tail and fins around Derek and hiss at anyone trying to pry him away. Stiles can control himself.

He will not be another crazy speed dating story for people to laugh at.

 

He looks up to smile at Derek, hoping that he looks less miserable than he feels, only to find Derek closer than before. Derek’s hand closes around his forearm, grip light enough not to trap him but strong enough to prevent Stiles from leaving. Slowly, Derek brings them back down to seafloor level.

 

“I think you should stay. We didn’t try any of the suggested questions on the board,” Derek explains. There is something apprehensive but hopeful around his eyes, as if afraid to be cast away.

Stiles nods so fast and vigorously that he possibly sprains his spine.

“We would be breaking the only sacred rule in speed dating,” Stiles notes with a smile too big for his face while obediently curling back on the sand, just a little bit closer to Derek than before.

“I couldn't care less,” answers Derek simply, shrugging. His hand brushes against Stiles’ pulse, travelling from his biceps to his wrist before letting go.

The girl next to them starts to make pissed off noises, her pretty silver tail batting the water impatiently, and to send pointed looks at the organizers. One of them rushes toward their circle, scowling.

Stiles is ready to start his wrapping-around-Derek-and-never-letting-go maneuver. Begging may be involved.

But he doesn’t have the time to implement any of it since Derek just turns toward the intruders and gives them both a Look.

It’s a variant on Derek’s ‘I’m very disappointed in you, young man’ teacher look, the power of which allows him to corral dozens of merkids day after day, mixed with a new and silent edge of 'I have the muscles, teeth and brain to make this confrontation painful and humiliating for you.'

It’s a thing of glory.

The organizer contorts mid swim and glides toward a pair behind them, trying to make it look as if this was his goal from the start.

The silvery mermaid stares longingly at Derek’s arms for a few seconds before leaving, sending a disgusted look in Stiles’ direction. Several other pairs are staring at them from their spots. Stiles waves back cheekily at them all.

This time, when they turn back toward each other, the silence is warm, easy and amused.

“So,” Stiles finally says, clapping his hands, “questions!”

Derek nods solemnly, a smile dancing on his lips. Stiles squints his eyes, trying to read the questions printed on the massive plastic panel behind Derek despite the sunlight flaring on the white plastic.

“Do you like…singing?” he deciphers haltingly, eyebrows raising up. “This is ridiculous. Did this speed dating start two hundred years ago? Because, if I’m honest, it felt like it before finding you.”

Derek’s grins blooms for a second, blinding. “I do,” he answers simply.

“You do?” repeats Stiles, dazed. Then he remembers the question. “You _do_?” he repeats again, surprised but delighted. Singing is an old-fashioned tradition, so rarely used in courtships these days except for whale bloodlines.

“Well, I have to. For classes?” explains Derek. He winces slightly. “The kids have to learn history and most of it is still passed through songs. It’s an important legacy.”

“This might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And keep in mind that I’ve known Lusca as a tiny baby and Scott after too much Pearlwine. Tell me more about the singing. Like, how many sailors jump from boats every day, utterly besotted by you? Loads? I bet it’s loads.”

Derek laughs and Stiles watches overtly, charmed.

Derek’s octopus uses Stiles’ momentary inability to function to come closer and to stick one tiny sucker on Stiles’ elbow. She floats there happily, like the roundest and smallest human flag ever.

“I am not good at it. I mainly get my singing lessons from the kids. Once, I got judged by a passing lobster. That was a low point in my career.”

“Lobsters are harsh critics. It is well known.”

“They don’t have _ears_ Stiles.”

“Which makes them really hard to please,” argues Stiles, waving a finger.

Derek shakes his head, but there is now a visible dimple on his cheek. Stiles wants to kiss this face and marry him a little.

“And you? Do you sing?”

“I tried, once. My delightful godson immediately asked me to _tell_ the story and not sing it. He was two. So, put me down for a strong ‘no’. Next question is… What do you do for a living. Oh, I already know the answer to this one!”

“Well, I don’t. So. What do you do for a living Stiles?” Derek repeats dutifully, eyes dancing.

“Special investigations, merfolk-human division. I work all types of cases, from property violation to merfolk trading.”

“Oh.” Derek looks Stiles up and down. Then, after a second of contemplation, he nods decidedly. “It suits you.”

Stiles actually freezes again for a second. “Seriously? That’s the first time someone's said that to me. _Ever_. There's a reason I’m usually the one sent undercover, and it’s not because I fit the law enforcement type.” Stiles flails his hands over his lower half. He has this compulsory need to remind Derek that Stiles can’t take a highway current without tying up his fins in a bun to prevent them from tearing.

Stiles is a great investigator, but he knows he doesn’t _look_ like one.

“Well you're smart and you never back down. Also, you just subdued a merman twice your weight in a second and left him paralyzed for days,” Derek’s head leans slightly on the side. After one instant of hesitation, he continues, “I'm a teacher. I teach my kids every day not to touch because beautiful doesn’t mean harmless. Often the opposite, in fact.”

Stiles, unable to resist, crawls closer. His tail is now close enough to touch Derek’s, if Derek ever curls himself on the left. Derek does it immediately.

 

The contact, although small, strikes Stiles like lightning. He looks up sharply but Derek is looking away, clearly self-conscious about his own boldness.

 

Stiles wonders what it would take to make Derek blush.

 

Stiles wonders what type of gift could ever express the depth of his gratitude to Lydia.

 

 

“So,” Derek clears his throat, eyes on the board behind him, “do you have pets?”

 

“Had a trained moray eel with me for a few weeks for work, but we never really clicked. Mainly because she tried to eat my tail every time I took my eyes off of her. I gave her to my partner—Erica—and they now form the most terrifying duo in the department. I also feed a wild crab every morning who likes to pinch me. I’m not sure that it counts as a pet though. But, honesty time? I’ve always wanted to steal your octopus something _bad_.”

 

The octopus, still floating somewhere around Stiles’ shoulder, clearly understands that it’s the subject of the conversation and bobs until it hovers on the left of Stiles’ face.

 

“Her name is Squiggle, or Squig. I’m sorry, but I can’t give her to you. She’s a trained therapy octopus for the kids and also my main calculus assistant.”

 

“Calculus?” asks Stiles. It seems safer than remembering Squig, a few weeks ago, coaxing a small mergirl back toward the group then very seriously sticking one of her suckers to the pad of the child’s raised finger in the tiniest and cutest high five ever witnessed by merfolk.

Stiles wasn’t kidding on the kidnapping part of his confession.

 

“She has a lot of suckers to count. And lots of arms,” points Derek out.

 

As in demonstration, Squig waves one arm in front of Stiles’ face. Stiles gives it all his attention for a second before nodding approvingly. The octopus sticks a second arm around Stiles’ biceps and clings a little tighter, her ears flapping happily.

 

Stiles has the almost unbearable impulse to squish her in a cuddle, she’s just _that_ cute. But he contents himself with petting softly her arm with the pad of his finger.

 

 

°°o°°°o°°o°°o°°

 

 

Stiles is laughing at one of Derek’s anecdotes on the worst parents when the new call for rotation resonates. They don’t even pretend to move from their spot this time and Derek doesn’t slow down for one second in his storytelling. 

 

Other participants move around them, sending them dirty looks of reprobation. From the corner of his eyes, Stiles supervises the approach of Derek’s supposed next date. The girl seems less homicidal and more perplexed than the previous. The organizer next to her is frowning so hard his eyebrows are touching his nose.

 

The girl starts arguing with the organizer, quickly joined by Derek first rebuffed date.

 

Stiles lazily deploys the poisonous spines on his back, allowing them to spread out on the sand and sends them all a bright smile. He’s no shark, but he’s not easily intimidated either.

 

“So, tell me Derek, if you had to be an animal, what—you know what, no. This is too stupid. I can’t do it anymore. I despair for our species Derek, I really do.”

Stiles raises his hands in the water a little, helpless. But Derek isn’t looking at him, staring at his left, tail batting the sand fretfully.

 

When Stiles follows his gaze, he finds Assana smiling at them both in delight and ignoring her date –the dolphin moron. When Stiles catches her gaze, she shakes her head with a beaming grin, obviously impressed by Stiles’ game. Stiles is way more surprised by it that she could ever be.

 

“That’s it, we are leaving,” decides abruptly Derek when Assana starts sending winks Stiles’ way. Stiles is flattered that Derek feels threatened by Assana but, as beautiful as she is, she’s not even in the same league as Derek.

 

“I mean…if you want to?” he adds, suddenly hesitant, frozen with one hand reaching for Stiles. 

 

Stiles catches the hand, proudly resisting the need to twine himself around Derek. On his shoulder he can feel Squig stick another arm, floating behind his nape like a tiny cape.

 

When they politely breath their goodbye to the organizers on their way out, several glares follow them. Stiles is impressed. He’s arrested major criminals with less palpable spite.

 

They swim together for a while, without any precise goal. They talk about Stiles’ job, Lusca and his swimming exercises and how amazing his memory is for a kid.

They also lose a few minutes exchanging random fact on urchins, because Stiles likes to learn the weirdest things and Derek is apparently into obscure biology facts.

 

When they reach the reef indicating their corner of the ocean, Stiles slows down. Derek, swimming so close to Stiles they are basically sharing the same molecules of water, collides against him, one of his hand gripping his waist, fingers curling on the few scales spreading over Stiles’ skin. Stiles shivers.

 

“Okay. Here’s the problem. I swore in front of Lydia that I would not bring home someone from the speed dating tonight. If I do, I will have to owe her my soul, which, you don’t know her, but it would be the worst. She has too much power already.”

 

“Oh. Would you— We could—” Derek interrupts himself, looking vaguely panicked and like he’s trying really hard to hide it. Stiles is baffled. Does he really think that Stiles is not the surest thing ever? That Stiles will ever let him go without fighting now that he has a chance?

 

“We could maybe see each other another time? If you are interested, of course…” Derek finishes in the most horrible casual voice Stiles has ever heard. It’s heartbreaking.

 

“Stop,” he interrupts when Derek looks like he’s going to try convince him some more. Stiles was convinced five seconds after meeting him for the first time. No other argument necessary.

 

“ _I_ can’t bring someone home. But I am all in favor to be brought to _someone else’s_ home.”

 

Derek stares for a second before grinning, his beautiful eyes crinkled in pleasure. His hand on Stiles’ waist squeezes just a little bit tighter, pressure full of promise but still warm, safe.

 

When Stiles looks at him, bypassing the superb smile, he basks in Derek’s sea eyes, the green-blue-yellow of water dancing under the sun.

 

Stiles is going to buy Lydia _all the things_.

 

.

 

 

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! For more visuals, the little octopus can be found on the tumblr post for this fic [**here**](https://artemis69.tumblr.com/post/176914478641/m%C3%A5ngata-a-while) (because AO3 doesn't let me insert gif)

Here is the illustration of Lusca made by my friend **Soizic** , and it's so cute I died a little inside:

And finally, the lionfish which was the inspiration for Stiles' merman tail:

 

I hope you are all having a great day/night my lovelies, and hope to hear from you soon, here or on tumblr!

 


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